


Not Boys Anymore

by bevewrites



Category: The Iliad - Homer
Genre: Ancient History, Angst, M/M, but like sexy angst, dominant patroclus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevewrites/pseuds/bevewrites
Summary: "This is what rouses you now. Conflict. Your new mistress. When you want to spill blood, I know where else it rushes.”There is no place for sentiment in war, yet Achilles finds himself longing for his youth.





	Not Boys Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoy this - it's a little dark, I warn you! i may do a second part if anyone wants it. thanks for reading! - b

“Patroclus…” he attempts to reach out to the man opposite him. He doesn’t know how to deal with a scowl or a turned back. He’s never really had to – he’s a god that walks the earth, the grievances of others are left at the door when they approach him. Which perhaps would be fine he was currently reclining on Olympus, but no, he walked amongst mortals, and now the ichor in his veins was peppered with Patroclus.

“I dream of our younger days,” his hand settles on Patroclus’ shoulder “I wish we could return to them.” He presses his mouth to the base of his neck and smells the sweat, the dust, the blood: the smell of war.

“Please, Achilles.” Patroclus uses his commander’s voice, and pushes him away. Achilles frowns.

“Don’t you dream of them also?”

“Achilles.” Patroclus turns around; Achilles catches the glint of tears in his eye.

“Do not cry. We are not boys anymore.”

“Precisely.” He’s angry, Achilles can tell, but he’s clueless as to why.

“What do you mean?”

“I wish you would not speak so wistfully of the past,” he can’t stop his voice cracking with bitter sorrow. “It is a forgotten time, we have sealed our fates, both of us, we have chosen war.”

“Chosen war, yes, but not forgotten our past.”

“I wish you would forget it; you wouldn’t bring it up so often. Do you really think we can go back to being children after _this_?”

“That is not-“

“ _No_ ,” Patroclus suddenly takes on a new wildness, grabbing the leather straps of Achilles’ breastplate and pulling him close, his features seething and intense. “We have both developed a taste for this – war, conflict, Gods, you can feel it now, can’t you? This is what rouses you now. _Conflict_. Your new mistress. When you want to spill blood, I know where else it rushes.” Patroclus fingers close firmly on Achilles groin, earning a gasp of gods knows what from Achilles - discomfort, shock, perverse desire, he doesn’t know. “So tell me,” he speaks through gritted teeth “what is it about this that’s arousing you? The fact that I might fuck you, or that I will throw you to the ground before doing so?”

Achilles, body singing with adrenaline, mind buzzing with thought, cannot muster a single word. He stares into Patroclus’ eyes and finds a war on a new front, and suddenly the noise of the men outside his tent mutes to a hum. “I…”

“If your men could see you like this… Gods, they’d be gone by sundown.” Patroclus shoves Achilles away roughly, spitting on the ground. There’s a hollowness to his eyes that had settled there in the last year. Achilles almost didn’t recognise him. Perhaps it was for the best, the way they seemed to treat one another. It was far easier to hurt a stranger.

Patroclus turned to leave, but Achilles wasn’t about to let him, he wouldn’t let him thrill him like that and then wander off. “I still mean it.”

Patroclus turns, weary looking. “Mean what?”

“I miss how we used to be.” Patroclus’ jaw clenches. He strides purposefully to Achilles, roughly shoving him to the ground, straddling the demi-god and wrapping his fingers round his throat. There’s something in his expression Achilles can only recall seeing on the battlefield. There’s a storm shared in a look before Achilles silently observes a victory as Patroclus’ lips attack his own.


End file.
